The Tea Shoppe AU
by thaliaarche
Summary: Sebastian Michaelis, over-scheduled college student, intends to dash through his morning routine. He'll leave his dorm at 8:30, get in line at the campus Starbucks at 8:42, order at 8:43, enter class promptly at 8:59 . . . But the opening of a tea shop throws all his plans into disarray.


It's a morning routine. Sebastian must stride out of his dorm at 8:30, up the student center stairs and into the Starbucks at 8:42, must order a minute later and arrive at his machine learning lecture by 8:59, steaming cup in hand. His order is set in stone . . .

"Tall espresso, not decaf, never decaf."

For Sebastian must have caffeine.

After all, sleep is a recreational activity, and not one that looks good on a resume, so he turns instead to caffeine to fuel the never-stopping energy that propels him through twice the normal load of classes, and clubs, and internships. Perhaps his world is blurring to black and white, but if he stops to think the existential depression will set back in _nononono_ . . .

Blue.

He stops half-way from the stairs to the Starbucks, because there's a new store on the second floor of the student center. At first glance, it could be a Starbucks itself— it's got the dark wood and the high chairs and the black-and-white menus. Yet the coffee shop feels homey— albeit in a commercially manufactured way— while this place is off-puttingly cool and elegant, with ebony counters and royal blue seat covers and . . .

"Tea?"

Sebastian realizes that it's 8:42, yet he's inside a tea shop. The barista— are they even called baristas in a tea shop?— is beaming at him with sparkling blue eyes that match his apron and the seat covers, and how can someone's eyes even hold that much color . . .

"Um," Sebastian replies cogently.

"Ah, well, the selection can be somewhat overwhelming, especially for your first time here," laughs the barista. "Our special blend of the day is a red Rooibos tea imported direct from South Africa, and we've also just gotten in a terrific oolong . . ."

Sebastian's gaze drifts to the barista's hair— black, rumpled quite deliberately— then to his nametag— "Ciel," it says— then to the menu, listing at least twenty types of tea that he can't really tell apart. Then he begins drooling over the pastry display, with the chunkiest chocolate-chip cookies he's seen in years, and if only he could afford a morning sugar crash . . .

"Of course, if you're looking for caffeine—"

Sebastian snaps to attention.

"The English Breakfast has the highest caffeine concentration of any blend in the store. A large cup—" Ciel raises an eyebrow— "would give a Tall Starbucks espresso a run for its money."

Sebastian starts. "Do you know—"

"That you order that every weekday morning? Of course," the barista chuckles. "I spent an awful lot of mornings in that Starbucks last term for market research."

"Market research?"

"This is my store," Ciel gives what Sebastian suspects is his first sincere grin. "The name's Ciel Phantomhive, and I'm a student entrepreneur."

"Well, I'm all for entrepreneurship but . . ." Sebastian gapes. "Why _memorize my order_?"

"Maybe because you're one of the steadiest customers that Starbucks has got," Ciel shrugs, turning back to his equipment. "Do you want that large English Breakfast?"

"Sure," Sebastian reaches for his wallet. Then, he frowns, "What do you mean 'maybe'?"

Ciel stays silent as he pours out the tea and pops on a lid. Heading back towards the register, he sees Sebastian holding a credit card and waves it away. "This one's on the house. Call it an investment."

"I hate to break the news, but I'm not planning to come here forever and ever," Sebastian jokes, even as he takes the cup.

"Oh, I'd never openly aim for forever," Ciel says. "I'll take it a day at a time. Every day, I'll just convince you to come the next day. Voila, customer by induction."

Sebastian breaks into laughter.

"Nerd," Ciel intones, as if he hadn't just joked about mathematical proof techniques himself. "For today's inductive step, I'll tell you about the devil's food cake I'm bringing in tomorrow morning. It's worth selling your soul for."

"I don't do sweets in the morning," Sebastian sighs.

"Then come back later."

Ciel's voice dips, slightly suggestive, and something catches in Sebastian's throat. He thanks Ciel, snatches the tea and darts out, five minutes behind schedule, muttering, "What the _hell_?"

Then he decides he'll come back tomorrow, if he has to break all the routines in the world to do it.

(He tries the tea, can barely taste it, and somehow doesn't give a damn.)

* * *

Originally inspired by queenofsebaciel's headcanon, posted on her tumblr.


End file.
